Reason to Breathe by Rebecca Donovan

of laughter in
the kitchen from Leyla, accompanied by a chuckle from Jack as she
said something to make them laugh. It would be over for them too,
but in a way that would damage them forever. I couldn’t ruin their
lives. Carol and George truly loved them, and I wouldn’t take them
from their parents. I swallowed hard, determined to compose myself,
but the tears refused to stop.
    I opened the cabinets under the sink and
pulled out the cleaning supplies; with my lips quivering and hands
shaking, I scrubbed the tub, swallowing against the sobs. The built
up pressure from keeping the cries contained infuriated the pain in
my head. My whole body ached.
    I was back to my numb, emotionless state by
the time I finished cleaning the sink. I blankly stared at the
water running down the drain, rinsing away the chemicals and blood.
My raging thoughts were quiet.
    “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” I heard
Carol announce, closing the door behind her. The kids were watching
TV in the living room. I couldn’t hear George.
    I looked at myself in the mirror and
mindlessly wiped the remaining dried blood from around the bandages
before I opened the bathroom door. I stepped into the hall to
retrieve the broom and mop from the hall closet when George rounded
the corner. He stopped and his eyes widened. But his shocked
expression quickly dissolved.
    “Bump your head?” he asked casually.
    “That’s what I get for walking while
reading,” I droned, knowing he would convince himself of anything
except for the truth.
    “You should put some ice on it,” he
recommended.
    “Mmm,” I agreed and walked back into the
bathroom to complete my task.
    After my chores were completed, I returned to
my room to find a bag of ice waiting for me on my desk.
    I gently put the bag of ice on the lump and
watched Jack and Leyla chase after George in the backyard through
my window – sworn to silence in my hell.
     
    I awoke in a panic around midnight. I stayed
pressed to my pillow, my eyes fervently searching the room. I was
breathing heavily; my shirt was damp with sweat. I tried to detach
myself from the nightmare that had awoken me. It was hard to push
away the urgency of the dream that had me pinned beneath the water,
drowning. I took in a deep breath, confirming that I was still
alive as the air passed easily through my lungs. They weren’t
burning for oxygen as they had been in my dream. I had a hard time
falling asleep after that. Sleep finally found me just before the
sun rose.
    I was awoken by a hard knock on the door.
“Are you going to sleep all day?” the voice barked from the other
side.
    “I’m up,” I mustered in a rasp, hoping she
wouldn’t come in. I looked at the digital clock next to my bed that
read 8:30 . I knew I had to take a shower before nine o’clock
or do without. I slowly sat up with the throbbing pain, a reminder
of my living nightmare. I needed to find a way to ice it again so
the lump would be gone by the time I went to school tomorrow. I
knew there was nothing I could do about the dark purple bruise.
Thankfully the area around the cut wasn’t bruised. Sara’s new
hairstyle was going to come in handy with covering up most of
it.
    I gathered my clothes together and slipped
into the bathroom without being seen. Washing my hair was more
painful than I anticipated. I hadn’t realized how sore the back of
my head was from her iron grip of my hair. I felt blood scabbed
over where some of the hair had been forcefully removed. I was so
focused on the contusion that the back of my head didn’t register
until now. I gingerly used my fingertips to rub the shampoo into
the front of my hair, but it still felt like a form of torture. I
turned off the water before the knock and proceeded to dry
off and get dressed. After gently drying my hair with a towel, I
discovered that brushing my hair was worse than washing it. Tears
filled my eyes with each stroke of the brush. There was no way I
was going to be able to blow it